


Where I feel at home

by epersonae



Series: the only life you could save [8]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: A little tender moment, F/M, Getting lyrical about architecture, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: Lucretia finds a room in the house in Raven's Roost. Magnus finds Lucretia in the room he made. Johann just wants his normal morning routine.





	Where I feel at home

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [To Build a Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUFJJNQGwhk), which @hops used as the title for another piece in this series.
> 
> Been noodling on something around this since writing _“You know the little room back behind the stairs?” (In Magnus’s house, in Ravens Roost, she doesn't say, doesn’t need to say.) “It's the — that's from one of the ideas I had for the library. The one with the window seat. I came in the first time, and there it was.”_ in Find the One Safe Way.
> 
> This was originally going to be smutty, but it needed to be this instead. Maybe someday.

After the years alone, Lucretia has lost the knack of sleeping with others; after a night curled up with Magnus, everything is creaky, and half of it is pins and needles. So when he shifts in bed, she takes the opportunity to slip out of his arms and out of bed. She pulls his flannel shirt over her head and pads downstairs. The wooden floors are silky under her bare feet, the banister warm to the touch in the dawn light streaming through the big windows. 

She hasn't yet been alone in his new home, and she takes the opportunity of solitude to examine what he's made of it. The way the rooms flow together as if made to be filled with many people at once. The little closet holding extra leaves for the table — he'd left it small for them, cozy, where the full table might have reminded her of the others. But she can imagine it here, imagine this house crowded with guests, family. 

Everywhere she looks, there’s some thought to the people he loves, the people who spend their time with him, reminders of them when they’re gone. Nooks and crannies full of his own crafts as well: knives set on a shelf by the duck-shaped whetstone he got that one Candlenights, a basket full of yarn tucked into a little nook. She pulls it out and just touches the bright soft fiber, the crochet hooks he made himself. She hadn’t known about this new hobby, but she’s delighted. Something about it seems fitting.

Then she spots a door under the stairs, and while she figures it's just another closet (the house has a startling number of little closets and storage nooks), she decides to look anyway. 

The room beyond is flooded with light from an enormous bay window. And all the other walls are lined with shelves. There's not much on them. A handful of books, including what looks to be a stack of blank notebooks. A cup full of pens. A carved wooden duck. But she knows this space, could say the distribution of different heights of the shelves, the exact length and depth of the windowseat under the bay window, the placement of spots to install a Light spell to illuminate the built-in desk. 

She designed a room like this, once. A daydream of  _ after _ . He'd promised to build it for her. 

Johann pads up beside her and she put her hand — wet with tears — on his head. 

“Hey boy,” she says. He huffs in response. 

She sits in the windowseat. It looks out over the garden and then the town just waking up beyond. She sighs deeply. Johann lays down at her feet. 

“Maybe we'll get a little shut-eye, huh?” she says, half to the dog, half to herself. The cushion is thick and comfortable and there's a pile of pillows in one corner. She settles down into it, still thinking  _ just closing my eyes for a second _ as she falls asleep. 

* * *

He wakes with a start to an empty bed. Did she leave? It's still so early and he'd hoped she would stay at least for breakfast. She can’t be _that_ busy. But his heart eases as he spots her clothes where she'd left them the night before, and his own shirt missing.

He expects to find her on the couch or in the kitchen, maybe making a cup of tea. But both are empty. Johann comes up to him, whining softly. 

“Where's Luce, boy?” he says. The dog lopes to the back door. He opens it, but the garden too is empty. Johann runs out for his morning routine. “You're no help,” he says to the empty kitchen. Then he sees the library door ajar, light from its window striping the wooden floor.

He steps to it softly, slowly, and peeks inside. 

“Lucretia?” he whispers, but she's sound asleep in the windowseat, curled up like a cat, her back pressed against the glass, her arms wrapped around a pillow. He smiles to see her like this, at home in the room he made just for her. She makes a little snorting noise in her sleep. 

There's enough space on the seat for him to sit, and he settles in beside her, taking her feet into his lap. She mumbles, pushing her feet against his hands, and he takes the cue, running thumbs up the arches, then caressing her ankles. 

She turns, opens her eyes, sighing, pillow still clutched to her chest. 

“Morning,” she says in a voice still gravelly with sleep. As she props herself up on her elbows, his shirt collar slides off of one shoulder and the shirttails pool in her lap. The shirt is rumpled, and so is she, but the sight of her like this heats his blood. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, pushing his hands higher up her legs. Her eyes fall closed again, but this time with a flutter of pleasure. He watches the play of morning light over the dark skin of her legs. He sucks in a breath when she twists and stretches with an enormous yawn. 

He can't help but scoop her up into his lap, one arm under her legs, the other wrapped around her waist. A squeak and a sigh as she buries her face in his neck. He kisses the top of her head. 

“The library,” she says, half a statement, half a question. 

“Yeah.”

“But why? We weren't — we hadn't….” 

He considers her question. It's true: when he built the house, this — being with her again — it wasn't anything they'd talked about. There was that once, back before the end of the world, but it hadn't really left room for more. 

He runs a hand down her back, reveling in the sight and feel of her in his shirt. 

“Just…. Seemed right. Suppose I thought if nothing else, you'd have a guest room if there was a big shindig or something. Besides, it fit perfectly under the stairs.”

Then he blushes and looks away, remembering the way he'd felt standing there the first time. The way he'd wished she was there. 

“Did you…” The wicked grin appears. “Were you thinking of me while you made this?”

His blush deepens and for a second, he stammers incoherently. But then he laughs. 

“Who designed the window seat so it was just the right depth?” he asked as he tipped her backwards into the pile of pillows. “For...you know….” And he winked, putting a finger to his lips. 

“Sometimes when one is reading, one would like to take a little nap,” she said in a tone too dignified for her position or dress. 

“Sure, sure, yeah, of course.” He turns toward her and leans forward. “Sometimes ‘one’ would like a nap, and sometimes….” She sits up. They kiss. Distantly, the dog barks as it scratches at the back door.

“See,  _ this _ is why no dogs on the moon,” she says. “You better go get Johann before his dumb little head explodes,” 

He stands with a grumpy sigh. For a second, he lets the dog keep pawing noisily as he just looks at her, the morning light illuminating the cloud of her white hair. She raises an eyebrow.

“One more kiss,” he says, and it’s just a little peck on the lips, but he can feel her smile.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she says as he pulls away.

“Yes,” he says, and one word has never meant so much.


End file.
